Indian Summer
by MoonGoddessShadow
Summary: In which Lassiter proceeds to have several freakouts about his relationship with Shawn, while Shawn himself has only one. Sequel to In the Mood and Sunrise Serenade. Shassie.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Yeah, this is officially a series/'verse. Millerverse? Millerverse. It contains exactly zero dancing or Glenn Miller, but it's still a continuation from In the Mood and Sunrise Serenade, so the theme naming continues. This is likely going to be a five-parter, never mind the other Millerverse pieces I'm working on. My brain just hates focusing on too few things at once.

* * *

It was a little more than twenty-four hours into their relationship when the first real freakout hit Carlton.

Really, it wasn't all that dramatic–there was no yelling, no fighting, no debilitating effects that made him unable to fully function for hours afterward. Nothing like the freakout he could've had. Just a sort of thud, like slamming into a brick wall, and then the feeling of sinking, very suddenly.

He was at the station, filling out booking reports, minding his own damn business and only thinking about his planned date with Shawn every second or third thought. Really, he hadn't thought about it much, not a lot beyond the usual self-deprecating marveling that he'd snagged a date with anyone, let alone someone as good-looking or popular as Shawn Spencer. The whispers of a freakout hadn't even crossed his mind since that moment after their bust when he'd just stopped caring and made this happen.

All that changed when Shawn sauntered past his desk, regaling a filing clerk with his (apparently generous) contributions to their night club arrest. Silently, he prayed that Shawn would walk on by, not even spare him a glance, maybe maintain a newfound level of professional courtesy around him (even though he knew he'd have better luck hoping a meteorite hit him); at the same time, he really wanted to leap up, grab the psychic by the shoulders and kiss him furiously, just to make sure Shawn really was still his.

He knew he couldn't do that in the station, of course. That was potential career suicide when he didn't even know how long this would last. Maybe one day, when he knew exactly how stable this was going to be, but for now, he held his urges back.

So when Shawn stopped next to him, ruffling his hair as he told the filing clerk how handy Lassiter had been in apprehending the criminal at the club, the detective immediately felt his whole body tense. His hand froze mid-word on his report, resisting the strong urge to either yell at Shawn for bothering him or kiss his stupid mouth shut. The younger man's hand settled on Lassiter's shoulder, thumb rubbing absently back and forth as he detailed an elaborate victory dance that Carlton had definitely not done after the perp was booked.

That was when it hit him, weight on his chest a like herd of elephants making it impossible to breathe. He was sinking, drowning, being dragged down in a sea of realization. Here Shawn was, just parading around the station, once a safe haven of peace and justice for Carlton, telling his ridiculous stories that couldn't even be realistic in some sort of backwards alternate universe. He had enough good sense in him to leave out any details pertaining to their post-arrest activities (though Carlton seriously doubted he had any more good sense than that), but Shawn's words only served to make the detective very suddenly hyper-aware of just whom he had a date with, who he'd shared a bed and a fairly intimate dance with.

Shawn Spencer. Eternal braggart. About as mature as a six-year-old. Had some sort of incessant need to one-up Carlton, and Carlton alone. Couldn't keep his mouth shut for the life of him. Ladies man and all-around flirt.

Carlton was insane, plain and simple. There was no other way to rationally explain his sudden acceptance of the thoughts he'd been having about the unnaturally irritating department psychic. Lassiter considered himself to be a generally upstanding citizen, with a firm resolution and no-nonsense attitude about most things. Shawn was the very opposite, a flighty man-child who couldn't take anything seriously and drove Carlton nuts more often than not.

They just couldn't make it work; either Shawn would leave out of boredom or Carlton would strangle him in frustration. They were too dissimilar, too at each others' throats and on each others' nerves all the time. How involved they'd already become, the kisses they'd shared, was madness enough without considering their tenuous future.

The sudden absence of warmth on his shoulder drew his thoughts back to Shawn and the filing clerk. He glanced up, saw Shawn's mouth moving, but couldn't quite focus enough to make out the words. Blood still echoed in his ears, heavy thoughts coursing through his mind and dragging him down further from the blinding light of his interest in Shawn, but he could see the younger man smiling, glancing coyly to Carlton. The psychic pressed two fingers to his own lips, then to Carlton's cheek; the filing clerk just watched this with general disinterest, almost bored with the commonplace occurrence of Shawn harassing Lassiter, before following the psychic as he walked away.

The spot where Shawn's fingers had touched his cheek was still slightly warm, and that was all Carlton could think about. It was a breath of fresh air, like being pulled from the water just before the blackness on the edge of his vision took him. All the positive things he'd felt, dancing pressed up against Shawn, waking up next to him, came to Carlton in a rush. The doubts still lingered on the edges–just being the way he was, he wasn't likely to get rid of those doubts quickly–but they seemed minuscule now compared to how Shawn could make him feel just by being Shawn.

He was affectionate, open, understanding. He was fun and free and willing to love every imperfect part of the older man. He made Carlton try harder at everything, whether he liked it or not. He was everything Lassiter needed in his life that he'd never been willing to try before. And if he wasn't willing to change his outlook now, he was never going to find anyone to be with, not for real.

So as crazy as it seemed, as different as they were, he needed Shawn. He wanted Shawn. Shawn balanced him out, and vice versa (or so he liked to think). They were good for one another, could be so much better men if they gave it a chance.

He didn't know how many times he'd have to go through this particular brand of freakout in the course of their relationship, as long as it would last, but to be fair, it was probably the most important freakout. He just didn't know that yet.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This one took longer than I'd hoped it would, so I apologize for the delay. The idea just wouldn't come for the longest time without feeling too forced, never mind that the entire scenario changed at least twice before landing on this situation.

* * *

"Oooh, they're having a sale on fish sticks!" Shawn exclaimed gleefully, nearly prancing over to the freezer to reach inside and pull out three family-sized boxes. The mad smile on his face as he dropped them haphazardly into Lassiter's cart only made the older man roll his eyes and keep walking.

"Why in the world do you need a hundred and forty-four fish sticks, Shawn?" the detective asked, somewhere between annoyed and bored with the psychic's antics. They'd only been together for a month, and already a great deal of Shawn's shenanigans were commonplace to Lassiter. Not that it wasn't still interesting, because Shawn had a knack for innovating the art of mischief, but he'd (mostly) quit getting worked up over the smaller things. He had a feeling it wouldn't be good for his health, mental or physical, if he did.

"What if I'm in the mood for seafood?" Shawn countered flippantly, and almost reasonably. "Or what if I can't find the Jenga box but I really, really want to play? I could just whip out these puppies and play almost three whole games of fishstick stacking goodness." And there was the insane logic, without fail. Carlton just snorted and continued pushing the shopping cart down the aisle.

It had been a month, give or take a few days, since he had first taken Shawn home from an arrest and basically given in to the insane idea of dating the psychic, and things were going shockingly well. They'd gone on a few low-key dates, Shawn being very understanding about his reluctance to be overtly affectionate in public–even in progressive and modern California, there were still some people who wouldn't be too happy about a gay cop just parading himself around town with his new boyfriend.

Not that he was ashamed of being with Shawn, or embarrassed to be seen with him or anything like that. After all, he was comfortable enough with their dynamic to allow Shawn to come grocery shopping with him, with the usual stipulation that the younger man wouldn't try anything more than holding hands. Anyway, Shawn spent most of their time together in public, besides dates, on his usual tomfoolery, like the way he was entertaining a six-year-old at the end of the aisle with a bastardized version of the Chicken Dance. For being as impetuous as he was, Shawn was startlingly great about not pushing their relationship too hard while they were in public, and that made the whole 'not freaking out' thing much easier on his part.

After all, he'd accepted his vague interest in men a long time ago, but never really acted on it outside of a few dates-cum-makeout sessions back in college. The whole heterosexual panic had never really occurred to him; he liked women, stole glances at guys occasionally and went on with life. Dating a man seriously just seemed like the natural progression from that, especially when his marriage fell apart and every date he'd had since then had been an unmitigated disaster. At this point in his life, pursuing something different wouldn't kill him.

Which was why, watching Shawn grab a pair of circular Brillo pads and use them as Mickey Mouse ears (much to the glee of the group of children he was quickly amassing), this freakout hit him so hard. He'd come to terms with dating a man, didn't really have a problem with this new romantic direction he was taking, but he'd never really considered that he was dating a man-child. It was a painfully obvious distinction, the implications of which only now becoming clear to him.

Shawn was an adult, sure, but he acted like he was still ten. He had ice cream for breakfast, watched cartoons all day long and whined when he didn't get his way. He was impulsive, impatient and all-around immature. Last week, he'd been obsessed with watching every Sam Raimi movie, including that awful one with Liam Neeson, and now he couldn't care less; he was inexplicably all about My Little Pony. His attention shifted quicker than the human eye could perceive.

Openly staring now at Shawn making goofy faces at laughing children, Carlton had to wonder if he was prepared to be the adult for the rest of this relationship. They were far enough into this relationship that he was seriously considering the idea that Shawn might be a permanent part of his future, and not just some flight of fancy or the result of temporary insanity. He could spend the rest of his life putting up with these antics, living with a grown child that would, given time, assuredly drive him nuts.

Oddly enough, a sense of calm washed over him as he watched Shawn ruffle one kid's hair as they dispersed back to their parents. Sure, the younger man was irresponsible and childish, but that was part of why Carlton was so ridiculously taken with him. He knew how to make the detective's otherwise lackluster private life more interesting, actually make him feel alive in ways he hadn't thought possible outside of the force. Shawn's adolescent attitude was part of the change Lassiter needed in his life.

And he wasn't always that way, either. Shawn was respectful enough to move at Carlton's slow public pace. He understood that the job came first sometimes. He didn't push anything too hard unless he knew Lassiter could take it. Carlton knew that Shawn would rather be much more open about their relationship, but he was okay with waiting for the detective to be ready too.

So yeah, his public persona was that of a gallivanting man-child, but Lassiter had seen his serious side, his sweet side, his courageous and strong side. He knew Shawn was more than just a kid in an adult's body, like that Tom Hanks movie he loved so much. Just because he wanted the world to know him as a joker without a care, didn't mean he was always that way. Lassiter almost felt lucky that he had the privilege of seeing more to Shawn; he knew very few people did.

"Are you trying to blow that stand of Fruit Loops up with your mind, sweet Carly-que? Because I've tried it, and let me assure you, it's not as fun as it would seem," Shawn said as he ambled back up to the taller man, snapping him out of his thoughts. Carlton glanced down at his boyfriend, smiling at the sight of Shawn's curious expression.

"Nah, just thinking," he replied, reaching out to grab Shawn's hand and squeeze. The psychic looked at him with mounting wonder, head tilting ever so slightly, before smiling back.

"Well, whatever you're thinking about, keep thinking it," he said, squeezing Carlton's hand back. "So'd you see the dance I did for those kids? They ate it up. I am gonna be _such_ a great dad one day."

Carlton was inclined to agree.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This one has actually been written for a long time, but I had to bang out the second chapter before this went up. Pesky sequential order and whatnot.

* * *

It was so subtle, so sensible, Carlton didn't really notice it at first–an extra toothbrush in his bathroom, a couple of brightly colored polos hanging in his closet, the exotic fruits that kept showing up in his fridge, all fairly small things that he could easily reason away.

It was better for everyone if Shawn kept up his oral hygiene, and he couldn't keep brushing his teeth with Lassiter's toothbrush or avoid brushing his teeth altogether, so it just made sense when he left his own toothbrush in the bathroom.

There was a chance that while Shawn was staying the night, they'd both have to wake up at some ungodly hour to go to a crime scene and he didn't want anyone to be suspicious if Shawn was wearing the same outfit as the day before. It just made sense for the younger man to leave some clothes at Lassiter's house, just in case.

Carlton didn't really mind the fruit either; Shawn needed something to eat, after all, and it was better than the mounds of junk food he could've brought into the house. Besides, everything he'd heard about pineapple was very much true, so he wasn't going to complain.

Those were all reasonable little things for his boyfriend of five months to leave in his house. He was even okay with the fact that he really didn't have anything at Shawn's apartment. Its location changed every time they went back, and it was always in the most bizarre, semi-seedy neighborhood that was still somehow above the board. Carlton just felt better being at his house most of the time, and so it was okay if Shawn left a few things here.

But this was getting a little ridiculous. All of Shawn's fancy body washes, shampoos and conditioners sat in his shower, and a bright green towel now hung on the rack next to Carlton's plain white one. An array of hair products the older man couldn't even name littered his bathroom counter. Those hadn't been there when he'd gone to bed last night. Well, he was pretty sure they hadn't been there. Shawn's inviting voice from the bedroom had done a pretty good job of blanking out a lot of last night for him.

After a quick and befuddled shower, he wandered back out to his bedroom. Several pairs of designer jeans were laid out across the bed that hadn't been made when he'd gone into the bathroom. In the short time Carlton's shower ate up, Shawn must have woken up, made the bed and started deciding what to wear today before going downstairs to make breakfast. The smell of bacon wafted up to him, but his mind boggled at the sight of those jeans spread across his bed.

He sped to his closet, throwing it open to reveal not only his meticulously hung suits and Shawn's few shirts, but a wide array of button-downs, jeans, polos and t-shirts with odd, cute sayings on them, all arranged haphazardly on shelves and hangers. It was like Shawn's closet had puked into Carlton's (which was a disgusting mental image he wished he could purge the moment he had it).

But this was okay, he reasoned. Shawn had been here a lot recently. He just had more clothing than usual in Carlton's closet because he had done laundry here, and it was difficult to take a large load of laundry back to his apartment on his ludicrous motorcycle. It was so obvious.

Content with his logic, Carlton got dressed in his usual work attire and jogged down the stairs to the kitchen. On his way down, he passed a dozen or so pictures that Shawn had hung up last week, all of family, friends and the goofy candid photos that the younger man insisted on. It hadn't really bothered him at the time, but now a little voice in the back of his mind insisted on attaching a deeper meaning to the presence of these pictures. He squashed it down and put on a smile as he entered his kitchen.

That smile was gone in an instant. Shawn was gleefully humming a song as he stood in front of the stove, frying bacon in his boxers and pink bunny slippers. A brand-new host of cutlery and dishes were spread across the counter top, along with a handful of knickknacks gracing the windowsill and odd magnets stuck to the fridge. When he thought about it, some of those things had been there for a couple weeks, but none of it had ever really struck him as all that odd. It was only when he saw the panini press resting next to his toaster did it click for him, all those niggling thoughts falling into place.

Shawn was moving in. Maybe not in so many words, but it was clear what his boyfriend was doing. Bit by bit, he was moving his things into Lassiter's house. Over the last month or so, Shawn's possessions had slowly made their way into his house. The most reasonable and necessary things came in first, the things that Carlton wouldn't really notice or could easily brush off.

But that had just been to placate him. With the extra clothing, pictures and decorative junk, Shawn had been crafty, bringing them in one by one, slowly nudging his foot into the door with more and more stuff. It had been so slow, so subtle, so unlike Shawn's usual audacious style that Carlton hadn't really noticed.

He sank into one of the island stools in his kitchen, taking it all in. Shawn was moving in. His things were here, or at least a majority of them. If Lassiter really thought about it, he was pretty sure most of his boyfriend's impractical sneakers were in the front closet, and his DVD collection was scattered throughout the living room. Carlton found himself staring at Shawn as the younger man did a small dance, one he always did while cooking bacon, and the detective was absolutely paralyzed.

Shawn was moving in. He didn't know if he was ready for this. He'd dated Victoria for over a year before they even considered moving in together, and another six months after that before they actually did. He'd been dating Shawn for five months now; the only time they'd even brought up living together was in jest, thought Lassiter was now seriously questioning how joking Shawn had been.

He just wasn't ready for this. He was barely ready for people outside the two of them to know they were together–Guster, O'Hara, Vick and Henry were more than enough people in his opinion, at least for now–but living together was a whole new step. Sure, Shawn hadn't officially moved out of his apartment yet, but that was coming; he could just feel it. And that meant sharing all the space with Shawn, all the time. It meant living every day with his disorganization and preposterous projects, and never really having a private moment to himself again.

It meant falling asleep next to Shawn every night and waking up next to him every morning, not just every other day or so. It meant all the little jokes and smiles, all the quiet moments that he loved to drag out of the usually hyper psychic and the short, contented sighs right after they kissed. Most of all, it meant not really being alone anymore.

Maybe Shawn moving in wasn't such a bad thing. After all, he stayed over more than half of the week already. He practically lived here as it was. Five months was a relatively short amount of time for Lassiter, but everything about this relationship was new and different for him, and he was happier for it. Sure, Shawn could be annoying and childish sometimes, to say the least, but Carlton would be a liar if he said he didn't love having Shawn around. If Shawn was moving in, Carlton was pretty sure he didn't actually have a problem with it.

That realization alone was enough to put a small smile on his face.

"Good morning, Detective Sexypants," Shawn said merrily, breaking into his thoughts as he scooped some bacon onto a plate with already cooked slices. "Don't think you can hide from me just because you've been a Rude Ronald and not said good morning to me yet, even though you've been in here for four minutes and thirty-eight seconds." He raised a hand to his temple, playing his psychic bit. "I can see all, Carly-town. Also, your socks make a distinctive whooshing sound on the wood floors."

"Morning, Shawn," Lassiter replied a bit dazedly, finally connecting with his surroundings for real. He blinked and looked to his boyfriend, who was busily scooping eggs onto a plate like he owned the place. Legally, he obviously didn't, but Lassiter was pretty sure Shawn owned him at this point, so that had to count for something, right?

"Now that's better," the shorter man said, turning on a dime to present the two plates of food to Lassiter. "Breakfast, my good sir, is served." The detective smiled lightly and stood to get himself a cup of coffee as Shawn placed the plates next to the bowls of fruit already on the counter. His nerves jangled when Shawn pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, but Carlton kept his mouth shut as he poured his coffee. A maelstrom of thoughts assaulted his mind, varying from the very rash to the seemingly reasonable and everywhere in-between, and he really needed to keep some form of composure here.

It was huge, for him and for their relationship as a whole, to think of moving in together, but they were ready for it. Besides, five months was a long time for Shawn, longer than pretty much every other relationship in the younger man's life. The fact that he'd stuck around this long had to be a testament to their lasting power, it just had to be.

Behind him, he could hear Shawn busily piling food onto his plate; he poured creamer into his mug and came to a semi-rational (for how sudden it was) decision.

"So, Shawn," he began cautiously, adding a packet of sugar to his coffee, "how would you feel about moving in?" He didn't turn his back, didn't dare in case the look on Shawn's face would break him right now; all he could do was listen to his boyfriend's sudden lack of movement.

"Move in, with you?" Shawn repeated after a moment, tentatively. Lassiter had rarely heard him sound this hesitant, but didn't know if it was a bad thing or not. "Like, live here, all the time, not just most of the time?"

"Yes," Carlton choked back and he was so sure he was about to be shot down, every self-hating self-defense mechanism kicking in to cover such a stupid mistake, because really, how could he expect Shawn to want to move in with him after only five months? He'd obviously misread the situation, seen something more where there really was–

"I'd love to," Shawn replied, nearly breathless. Carlton heard the clink of a dropped utensil and then Shawn was spinning him around and pressing their lips together. Carlton, after the initial burst of shock, leaned into it, matching Shawn's gleeful exuberance, if only for another second before they broke apart. Each was grinning madly.

"You know, I thought you'd never ask," Shawn murmured, smiling up at Carlton. The detective just raised a coy eyebrow.

"It's a wonder it took me so long to notice, what with all your crap in my house."

"Yeah, I wondered when you'd catch on. Thank god you're such a good detective, or I'd have been all the way moved in by the time you figured it out." The younger man grinned slyly. "Now you get to help me move everything else in."

"Oh joy," Carlton snorted, but his smile never quite faded. Shawn just leaned in again, breakfast forgotten as he let his head rest in the crook of the older man's neck.

"Don't worry, Lassparilla, it can only get better from here."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** HOLY CRAP I'M SO SORRY GUYS. I'm the worst. I'd say life got in the way, but I've a pretty steady life and job since at least February, so I've got no real excuse. For story purposes, this takes place a couple months after the previous chapter, around season 4 or 5-ish in real show terms. I've been rewatching the series with my fiance, who's never seen the show, so hopefully that'll be pretty decent motivation to actually get some of these fics done.

* * *

The file folder had to be made of lead, because there was no way regular paper could feel this heavy in Lassiter's hands. Based on how his stomach was churning, it had the approximate toxicity of lead too. He was sure he could feel the poison working its way off the paper and into his body, spreading through his system with every thumping heartbeat. He had to do this, had to do it now, before the lead poisoning killed him where he stood and he never had a chance to confront Shawn.

He heard Shawn's motorcycle roar into the driveway, and anxiously readjusted his grip on the file.

He'd known this existed, known for a lot longer than it had really mattered, but up until this file had dropped on his desk an hour ago, it hadn't really held any importance to him. Until he'd physically had it in his hands, it hadn't been real, just a far off concept that he'd never really wrapped his mind around, not in a way that mattered.

But now it mattered. Good lord, did it ever matter. He was a cop, a damn good cop if he did say so himself. He was a pinnacle of justice and liberty in his jurisdiction; other cities and districts looked up to the arrest and conviction record Santa Barbara maintained under his tenure as Head Detective. He was a good, decent man, perhaps a little obsessive and socially stunted, but upstanding nonetheless.

And he was dating a felon.

Well, sort of; Shawn had an arrest record, which was close enough for him. It was something about misdemeanor grand theft auto back in 1995; although Henry was listed as the arresting officer, Carlton had no doubt that Shawn had done it. Henry wasn't the type to fake his own son's arrest, even when his son was undoubtedly some teenage hooligan. Paired with all of Shawn's semi-legal antics in the last few years, Carlton had been thrust into the sudden realization of his boyfriend's criminality with enough force to fuse metal.

"Why, Carlsbad, you're home early," Shawn said, suddenly leaning in the kitchen doorway. Goddamn, he could be a sneaky bastard when he wanted to be. Carlton cursed himself for losing his focus and hastily composed himself. What kind of detective worth his salt let himself get distracted like that? His heart thundered in his chest with a mix of nerves and anger as he raised the file clutched in his hand (which wasn't shaking, no matter what anyone else said).

"Shawn, do you know what this is?" The younger man peered at the file, forehead creasing in some semblance of thought before an eyebrow rose slowly. He raised a hand to his temple, pretending to get a 'reading' from the file. It was cute, but Carlton already knew Shawn was faking it, and it didn't set him any more at ease.

"Your bookie's game predictions for next year's NHL?" Shawn replied after a moment, sounding sure in an answer they both knew wasn't true. "You know you shouldn't be betting, Carly. What would your mother think?"

"It's your criminal record, Shawn," he stated, cutting to the chase. He wasn't about to get sidetracked by his boyfriend's attempts at humor.

"My record, huh?" the younger man asked, unflappable as always. At the very least, the smile on his lips fell a little, and that was enough of a foot in the door for Lassiter. "Let me guess, you did some digging, pulled some strings, and found out about my entire sordid past."

"More or less." Shawn, casual as ever, leaned back against the breakfast bar opposite Carlton, arms folded across his chest. He made direct eye contact with the older detective, who positioned himself on the other side of the kitchen island like it was a protective barrier. It wasn't so much about defending himself from Shawn if this went poorly, but about defending himself against the younger man's wiles. Carlton was pretty sure if he stood too close to Shawn, either his resolve would weaken, or Shawn would do something to melt him down and divert him from what was, in his mind, a very serious discussion.

"So, my file," Shawn stated, eyes never leaving the detective. In fact, Shawn was staring him down with a steely gaze that probably only rivaled Carlton's own. He likely had Henry to thank for that, whether Shawn would admit it or not. At least he was taking this seriously. "Anything interesting?"

"I wouldn't be here otherwise."

"Aw, so you were going to skip date night?" Shawn pouted, lower lip poking out in a way Lassiter absolutely ignored. He was focused on Shawn's eyes; lacking in their usual twinkle, they betrayed his jest. The detective laid the file out on the island, open so Shawn could see exactly what was going on here, see exactly why Lassiter had to do this. Wide open so he could see why he had to end it all before Shawn did something else that would end up in this folder, something that could reflect poorly on Lassiter and, in turn, his career aspirations.

The psychic leaned in, stony expression dropping as his eyes soaked up the information in the file. He flipped through a couple of the pages and, slowly, a smile grew on his face. "This is it?"

Not what Lassiter was expecting. Well, he'd expected his boyfriend's flippancy–nothing new or shocking about that–but the comment was what got him. This is it?

"What else is there?" he snapped back, half appalled, half curious. "What else could there possibly be?" Shawn glanced up at him, leaning casually against the island on his elbows now, all tension slipping away like it had never even existed.

"Oh, Carly, my sweet summer child, this isn't even the fun stuff. Besides the grand theft auto paperwork, everything in here is just creepy notes Henry kept until I left home. Although..." He flipped through a couple more pages, many of which were handwritten notes and newspaper clippings. "Wow, he _really_ kept tabs on me after graduation. Should've figured. My name isn't even mentioned in most of these. I bet Gus tipped him off. I'm so revoking his Snyder's privileges when I get into the office tomorrow. I mean, what are we, six?" He looked up to Lassiter, presumably for validation, and was only met with an impassive stare.

"What else is there?" the detective reiterated, switching into interrogation mode. The smile he received in return was almost as disconcerting as it was amusing, but Lassiter refused to succumb to the younger man's charm. Absolutely refused. That smile would not break him this time.

"Lassie, Lassie, Lassie, the stories I could tell you." He smiled wistfully, presumably reliving his more exciting antics for a few moments. "There was that time I helped with the theft of the Mona Lisa. We actually made it out of the building with it before Gustav had a sudden case of the guilts and we returned it. Never heard about it again, so I guess the Louvre didn't want it publicized. Oh man, Gus would go nuts if he found out." Lassiter suddenly found his jaw tightening, teeth clenched, as Shawn lazily flipped through his felonious memories.

The psychic flipped to another page, this one featuring a newspaper clipping that looked to be in Cyrillic, with a large picture of Shawn stirring an enormous vat and giving a thumbs-up. "Oooh, this is when I was a rakija promoter working with all those Serbian clubs! Which I sort of accidentally started doing after the time I short-sheeted all the beds in Buckingham Palace with those Polish backpackers. Jagoda was really great about the whole situation, especially considering I was the one who knocked over that lamp and tipped off the guards. I wonder how she's doing now?" Shawn stared at the article for a moment longer, while the older detective felt himself flushing with anger.

He'd known about the car theft. That was bad enough. Shawn only got off as lightly as he did because it was his first offense, and probably because Henry was such a well known cop in the area. Carlton knew that Shawn was rebellious as a teenager and young adult, and reveled in causing trouble to this day, but he'd thought the major offenses ended at grand theft auto. On paper, officially, they did, but if there was any grain of truth to these stories, then Shawn was even more of a criminal than he'd first thought. This was too much. Suddenly, their house seemed too stuffy to breathe or think in.

He raced past Shawn, out the front door to the less oppressively suffocating front lawn. Breathing didn't seem to come any easier out here, despite the cool breeze on his face, and his thoughts didn't slow down enough to put a damper on the anxiety he felt.

Shawn was a criminal. Lassiter was a cop. It couldn't work, not in this life or any other. Sure, he'd come home early to confront Shawn about his criminal past, maybe get some answers for why he'd done it, possibly even end it all before it ruined his chances at being chief someday. He'd had no idea the depths of Shawn's criminality, as ridiculous as the stories seemed. How was he supposed to stay a respected paragon of virtue in the community if he was dating a known scofflaw?

This time, he heard Shawn appear. The younger man stood to his right, although Lassiter didn't look directly at him. He was too consumed with getting his thoughts in order. Neither spoke for a moment, letting the sounds of Santa Barbara fill the silence. Carlton took a few calming breaths and mentally prepared himself to break it off. It'd always been a possibility, especially with how notoriously flighty Shawn was, but that wouldn't make it any easier. Still, he had to do it. There were no other options.

"So I suppose you don't want to hear about all the things I got to see in Area 51, do you?" Shawn asked, before Carlton could muster the energy to start a breakup. Concentration broken, he snorted and shook his head; Shawn Spencer, ludicrous to the end.

"No, Shawn, no I don't. Not today." He glanced to the younger man, who was holding the file in his hand. Willpower dissolved by the psychic's mere presence, he wanted answers now more than a quick breakup. "Why? Why did you do all that crap, if it's actually true? Why risk imprisonment, in foreign countries no less, for childish pranks?"

"Why not?" he answered after a moment of thought, glancing up to the taller detective. "I was just traveling back then, hopping from country to country and doing random work to buy the next ride. I had nothing going for me in Santa Barbara back then, so I left. The world was so much more interesting than going to college or getting some office job like everyone else. I met people and just did things. I wasn't aiming much higher in life than just having fun." He shrugged. "I'm not like you or Gus. I never had a dream job, at least nothing I could see myself doing for real. I had no reason not to do crazy things."

"But didn't Henry train you to be a detective? I know you would've been amazing at it. Hell, you aced the exam at only 15. That's better than most cops can hope for at the peak of their careers," Carlton replied, confusion replacing some of his anger. He knew that Henry had been a tough parent, especially after Shawn's mother left them. He knew about the observation games they'd played, and the eidetic memory Shawn had inherited from his mother. He knew Shawn came from a line of cops. It almost seemed like a forgone conclusion, but apparently Shawn disagreed.

"Yeah, yeah he did," Shawn replied, almost chuckling. "Every day since I could walk and talk, he did everything he could to make me the perfect cop. But just because Henry wanted me to be a cop, didn't mean I wanted to. You have no idea what it was like growing up in that environment. There are only so many times a ten-year-old can count the hats, Carlton. Breaking the law was the only way to make sure he didn't forcibly enroll me in the police academy." Brow furrowing, Lassiter processed this information, until it very suddenly clicked into place. He turned sharply to face Shawn head on.

"You stole that car so the academy wouldn't take you. You knew you had no priors and that the sentence probably wouldn't involve jail time, but the academy still wouldn't take you with it on your record." Shawn nodded, toeing the dirt.

"You've got it. Stealing that car was my ticket out. All I had to pay was a fine, and a few tense weeks later, after graduation, I was gone." Carlton nodded. He was starting to understand the situation more, at least as much as you could understand Shawn's logic. The anger had pretty much melted away, just like it always did with Shawn. At least the grand theft auto he could understand now; there was still the matter of the veracity of the other ludicrous claims Shawn had listed off.

"What about that other stuff? Is it all true? The Mona Lisa, Buckingham Palace, Area 51? Those could've been serious offenses if you'd been caught." Shawn just smiled.

"There's always a kernel of truth, Lassie, except when it's an outright lie." He paused, then shrugged. "I was young and stupid. It was fun, exciting, and it would've drove Henry nuts if he'd known. Now, I'm just old-ish and stupid. It's maybe a..." He thought about it for a second, eyes darting around the way they did when he was doing mental math. "...forty-sixty chance that I'd do it all again."

"I'd expect nothing less," Lassiter snorted. Shawn's smile widened, more closely resembling his usual broad grin now, and the older detective felt some of the tension in his shoulders disappear.

"Besides, when was the last time I did something seriously illegal?" Shawn postulated. Carlton could've laughed then if he wasn't immediately inundated with memories of all of his boyfriend's barely legal, sometimes entirely illegal, activities, just since he started working with the SBPD.

"You've got to be kidding me," he chuckled instead. "Just last week you 'stumbled' right into a suspect's house during one of your psychic convulsions, even though we didn't have a warrant yet."

"Buuuut, we managed to find the murder weapons," Shawn quickly answered. "And that helped us catch the FroYo Psycho. Those hip college students on his hit list are all alive because I forgot to tie my shoes that morning. Besides, I said _seriously_ illegal, and it's been at least a couple years since I committed any heinous international crimes. Little local stuff doesn't count, especially when it gets the bad guys off the streets."

"It still counts, Shawn," Lassiter replied, but he could see the fake psychic's point. He hadn't done anything illegal enough to earn a serious sentence (probably), and most of his illegal stunts now helped the police solve crimes. It wasn't the by-the-book approach that Carlton revered, but there was no denying that Shawn's 'methods' were effective.

And Shawn was a well-known local detective too. Maybe not 'well-respected', but he had helped with more successful investigations than a lot of the cops on the force, and his overall solve rate had to be at least as good as Lassiter's own, if not better. He was an amazing detective, on his own terms, and dozens of Santa Barbara citizens owed him their lives. He didn't have a great past, and his current shenanigans were often annoying to anyone who followed the letter of the law, but Shawn's success as a detective with the SBPD couldn't be denied.

There was no way he could break up with Shawn just because of this. God, how could it even be an option? Most people at the station already knew about Shawn's less than legal mischief, and Vick certainly wasn't going to fire Carlton just for dating someone with a criminal record. And so what if the politics of the situation meant he might never become chief someday? Was a job more important than a relationship to him?

He'd lost Victoria for too many reasons, and choosing the job over her was without a doubt a major factor. What he had with Shawn was stronger than anything he'd had with Victoria, but he knew it wasn't immune to either of them making stupid decisions. The months they'd been together were some of the best months of his life, and he wasn't going to throw that away for some perceived reputation and a job he might never get.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Shawn asked, eyes that were so hazel today watching the taller man avidly. Carlton smiled back him, nerves finally calmed. He held out a hand and walked with Shawn back into the house.

"I'm thinking that we can still make it to that _Last Starfighter_ showing you wanted to go see, if you can manage not to dawdle for once."

"Dawdle? Me? I'm offended, Carly-Q. I'm the pinnacle of speed and efficiency."

"If you say so. Just go get ready. And try not to steal any cars between here and the bedroom." Shawn mock gasped, affecting the air of a modern day Southern belle.

"Why Mister Lassiter, how dare you!" he huffed, a palm dramatically placed on his chest. Carlton just raised an eyebrow and nodded to the clock in the hallway.

"Pinnacle of speed and efficiency, huh?" The younger man glanced to the clock, then seemed to fight internally with himself about whether to keep up the scandalized routine, or actually make it to a movie he liked on time. After a moment's hesitation, he apparently chose making it to the movie on time, curtsied, and bounded up the stairs. Halfway up, though, he paused and turned back to look at Carlton.

"We're good, right?" he asked cautiously. "I don't want things to be weird between us, because we're kind of sort of awesome." It was nice to see the psychic actually worry sometimes. It made him seem just like everybody else, and with Shawn, it was easy to forget that sometimes. Lassiter smiled lightly.

"Yeah, Shawn, we're good."


End file.
